


I Am (Not) Dr. Lazarus

by pie_is_good



Category: Galaxy Quest (1999)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:20:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pie_is_good/pseuds/pie_is_good
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander never dealt with what it meant to be a character on a cult television series, until the day his whole life changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am (Not) Dr. Lazarus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Celandine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/gifts).



Alexander Dane was a proud man. He'd gone to drama school in London at the age of 16, against the wishes of his parents the whole way. He'd been on stage more times than he could count, and not just any old place, but the Royal Shakespeare Company. Richard III, he was once.

Five curtain calls.

Then, he’d gotten an offer. He always went on auditions, but never before had it resulted in more than just a small part in a movie or a guest role where he died before the opening credits. This was much, much larger; an offer for a television show in America, for more money than he'd made for all his years doing theater. He couldn't turn it down. Television shows that made it lasted at least a few years, and he'd be silly not to try. Absolutely bonkers to do anything other than take the job.

Year after year, he became more and more his character. He was Dr. Lazarus, and Dr. Lazarus was him. He remembered when he first started, trying to convince himself this was a legitimate acting job. He started to fill in the back story of his character, some of it even turning up on the screen from time to time as the writers noticed that he almost had more stock in the character's history than they did.

"What do I fear? Myself? There’s none else by."

He'd said those lines once. Oh, sure, the context was different, but the sentiment was much the same. He hated himself, now. For every fan that walked up to him, a small part of him died. He didn't blame them; no, the fans merely had something they loved. They saw him as Dr. Lazarus. Even if they called him Mr. Dane or Alex or Alexander, he knew in their heads that he was Dr. Lazarus, and that was all he would ever be.

He could never be anyone else. Not anymore.

That's why, when Galaxy Quest was over and he tried to do his first play afterwards, he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to do so. The time had passed for him. He couldn't get out of this character; he couldn't find a new one. He still went on stage, for a bit of money, but it was half-hearted and embarrassing. A shadow of what he once was, and something he hid from his family and friends.

He resented Jason every time he saw him, so confident and so set in being the golden boy of the franchise. He lived and breathed standing on stage in front of the fans and watching every pair of eyes in the audience light up at his presence, but all Alexander could see was those same fans in front of him as the ones who made him this way.

Then, one day, it all changed.

He ended up, most improbably, in space. Actually in space, no cardboard sets or prosthetic alien facial features - except for his own, of course. He accepted more about Dr. Lazarus than he ever had before. He realized what was Dr. Lazarus and what was Alexander; a separation in his brain he’d never managed to make before.

When he returned to Earth, some came to life in him. Something he hadn’t felt in so long. Something he hardly remembered feeling. When his agent called, offering him an audition to do Richard III again in a tired voice that hardly expected a positive response, Alexander said yes.

A few months later, he took a deep breath, waiting for the panic attack to consume him as there nearly always did, but it never came. He felt his boots carry him across the backstage, through the curtains, and there he was. An audience, before him, and he was at home. Home for the first time in years.

“Now is the winter of our discontent...”

Richard the Third, once more.


End file.
